


you, a violent desire

by element78



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bottom Jason, Established Relationship, Hot sweaty sex, M/M, dick grayson was a mathlete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14622390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/element78/pseuds/element78
Summary: Gotham's stuck in a heat wave and Jason calls in Dick for some help with a white collar case in an apartment with no AC.  What follows is inevitable.





	you, a violent desire

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't actually write smut. I tell people this, I tell myself this, and it's mostly true. Except once in a blue moon, three a.m. me gets her teeth into a particular piece of imagery and won't let it go, and I write smut.
> 
> This is born out of the sudden onset of summer here after a week and a half of spring and approximately two eternities of winter, and my being awake at three in the morning because it's eighty-five degrees in my house because I absolutely am not turning on the AC a week after I turn off the heat.

  
It’s the third hottest day in Gotham in thirty years, and the city is losing whatever functioning madness it has in place of sanity.  It’s the sort of hot that turns even the nicest people mean, that makes skin feel itchy and melty, that frays tempers and fries eggs on sidewalks as a matter of fact, not metaphor.  Energy bills are running high and blackouts roll through the city, and someone nearly died in a fight at a public pool over a floaty toy, and half the city’s vigilantes can’t even go out because of an unfortunate penchant for heavy armor and leather.

 

Dick hates it.

 

He gets the text at midnight and uses it as an excuse to cut patrol short, then swings out through Midtown in civvies before finally taking the bus into a low-rent neighborhood.  He’s all but panting like a dog by the time he’s made the walk and climbed the stairs to knock on one apartment door in specific. It opens, chain on, and one glass-green eye peers out at him.

 

“I brought food,” Dick says, holding up the bag.  The eye blinks, the door closes, a clatter, and the door opens, chain off.

 

“Alessandro’s?” Jason asks, eyeing the label on the bag.  He’s wearing a wifebeater, stained with sweat and oil and old blood, and boxers with a smiley face print that he will definitely punch Dick in the face for if he so much as sniggers.

 

“Vichyssoise,” Dick says, and for all Jason likes to pretend he’s the down-to-earth hard-luck Robin, he’s also the only Wayne boy who lights up like Christmas when presented with cold potato soup.

 

“No touching, it’s too hot for that,” he says, and when Dick rolls his eyes, he steps aside and lets him come in.  He takes the bag and heads into the kitchen, and Dick follows, already unbuttoning his shirt and wishing he’d taken a longer shower before he left the manor.

 

“How is it hotter in here than it is outside?” he asks.  Jason pops the lid off the plastic tub of soup and scoops up a spoonful and shrugs.

 

“AC broke yesterday,” he says, words clunky and thick around the spoon in his mouth.  “You still a mathlete?”

 

“I never was,” Dick says.  Jason grunts at him and jerks his chin in direction, and Dick follows him into the bedroom, which features a bare mattress on the floor beside a big box fan and approximately half a forest of paper sorted into neurotically neat piles.

 

“There’s an energy trader withholding energy and cashing in on the blackouts,” he says.  “I’m giving this one more day of follow-the-money before I break into his place and _set him on fire_.”  He punctuates the last with a vicious swipe across his forehead, but the sweat rises again immediately.

 

He’s shaved the sides of his head again, leaving only a thick black stripe of hair down the middle, curls gone raggedy and frizzy in the humidity.  Dick itches to break the door rule and run his hands through it until it’s smoothed down again, but he minds his manners. If he can do this- and he can, he was only not lying about the mathlete thing because Bruce wouldn’t let him do the athlete part of it- then he’ll be up two favors.  He unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way and shrugs it off instead, and smiles as Jason does a double take and almost swallows his spoon when he finally notices.

 

“Earnings reports?” he asks, tossing his shirt carelessly onto the mattress.

 

“Daily,” Jason says, a little smug, and that’s fair- daily reports means he’s got a source inside the company, someone with access to extremely sensitive information.  He sets the soup aside and digs into one pile and holds out a thick file folder studded with tabs denoting a months’ worth of reports. Dick sits on the mattress and bounces the folder in his hands to feel its heft.

 

The thing with white collar cases, the family doesn’t deal well with them.  They’re vigilantes, they solve their problems with action, with bloodied grins and busted knuckles.  This is sitting down and reading and connecting the dots and counting the totals and, if they’re lucky, handing the FBI a lead that will take them to a bank in a foreign country that will politely but firmly decline to cooperate.  It’s frustrating, and it’s so much easier to hand over a recording of a terrified confession from a stockbroker huddling in his piss-soaked bedsheets after he’d woken up to Batman looming over him.

 

Also easier to set them on fire, but that’s an outcome Dick would rather avoid.  He’s too tired and hot to carry on with being angry at Jason.

 

“He's got a second set of books,” Jason says.  “He keeps them on hard copy, no computer trail.  If we can find enough discrepancies, the police can get a warrant.”

 

“-but we have to find those discrepancies first,” Dick finishes.  He looks at the stack in his lap, the piles on the floor, and sighs.  “Can I get some water?”

 

Jason leaves and comes back with two half-frozen bottles of water and a styrofoam bowl for the soup, which he reluctantly offers to Dick and quickly withdraws when Dick declines.  He sits on the mattress next to him, close enough that their knees brush, and Dick ducks his head to hide his smile. He wants to encourage this behavior, Jason reaching out for help instead of simply shooting his problems, which means he can’t in any way acknowledge it.

 

At least Jason’s devotion to detail means it’s all in perfect order.  Dick sighs again and rubs the heel of his hand across the back of his neck, then picks up the file again and opens it to the first page and starts running the numbers.

 

* * *

 

It takes three hours before all is said and done, three hours of hot misery interrupted only by brief moments of shocking coldness when Dick had dumped half a bottle of freshly melted ice water over his head.  He’s ditched the jeans and is down to his boxer briefs, and Jason has lost the shirt, and they sit next to each other once more, eating ice cream from styrofoam bowls and watching out the window as lightning flickers along the edge of the storm rolling towards them over the bay .

 

“You know,” Dick says, “I have an apartment about ten minutes from here.”

 

“And?” Jason says.  His eyes are dark and hungry and have been lingering all night on Dick’s body, on the curve of his spine as he leans over to pick something up, on his neck as he tips his head back to roll the cold water bottle across his throat, on his ass as he bends over in a stretch.  The door rule is definitely getting broken soon.

 

“Working AC,” Dick says, and Jason- Jason is not quite looking him in the eye, not unless his eyes have migrated three feet downwards without his noticing.  He quirks a sharp smile and Dick’s breath catches.

 

“No, I think we’ll stay here,” he says.  He licks his lips and leans in closer, close enough for Dick to feel the sun-baking heat of him, and Dick can only watch helplessly.

 

The first kiss is sweet, chaste, a brushing of lips.  Then Dick touches Jason’s shoulder, and Jason surges forward against him, kissing bruising-hard.  They break for air and Dick groans and pulls at Jason’s shoulders, pulling him closer until they’re pressed together, pulling him closer still.  He wants Jason under his skin, part of him, wants Jason’s heat like fire burning through his own veins-

 

His phone rings, and Jason freezes halfway through sucking a bruise on Dick’s collarbone.  Dick will answer, he has to- it’s four in the morning, there are only a limited number of people who might be calling, and Dick cannot in good conscience ignore any of them.

 

“I have to,” Dick says, and Jason sighs against his skin and pulls back.

 

“Right,” he says, pulling even further away, shaking off Dick’s hands.  He does at least lean back and pick up Dick’s phone and toss it to him, and Dick chugs the rest of the water from Jason’s bottle and clears his throat before he answers.

 

“O?  What’s up?”

 

“The intel Hood gave me was good,” Oracle says, and her mechanical voice is somehow knowing and implying and judging.  The family knows about Jason and Dick’s relationship, and has their own opinions that Dick doesn’t care about. “The police are talking to a judge right now.”

 

“They’re getting a warrant at four in the morning?” Dick asks.  Jason snorts and pushes himself up and leaves the room, and Dick feels cold without him.

 

“Five people are confirmed dead from heat stroke,” Oracle points out.  Then the modulator shuts off, and it’s just Babs now. “You spending the night there?”

 

“The morning, yeah,” Dick says.  Jason’s coming back in with a six pack of what looks like very cheap beer, but the cans are already glittering with condensation, and Dick makes grabby-hand motions at them until Jason chucks one at him.  Crap or not, cold is cold. “B looking for me?”

 

“Not yet,” Babs says with a note in her voice that tells Dick for a fact that she’s been covering for him.  She loved Dick once. She loves him enough still to care about his happiness more than who he’s being happy with.  “You’ve been going out all week, why don’t you take tomorrow off? The heat wave is supposed to break the day after anyways.”

 

She’s not his boss- but neither is Bruce, and Bruce would probably agree with her, even if he had to spit it out through gritted teeth when he realized what Dick would be spending his day off doing.  He loves Dick enough to pretend like his happiness is the most important thing, and that’s quite the concession from the man under Batman’s cowl.

 

“All right,” he allows, like it’s a great hardship he will endure.  He cracks open the beer and takes a sip and almost gags. Scratch that- cold or not, crap is crap.

 

“I’ll call you later,” she says, amused like she thinks the noise was much less innocent in origin, and Dick is still too busy choking on bad beer to correct her before she hangs up.  Dick swallows the impulse to spit the beer out and tosses his phone aside and slants a glare at Jason, who is smiling in self-satisfaction.

 

“Beer snob,” he says.

 

“Vichyssoise,” Dick counters, and they sit in silence for a moment.  Then, “My apartment now?”

 

“I’m not putting on pants,” Jason says, and Dick wants to call his bluff but he’s not bluffing.  You can’t _handle_ Jason, you have to work around him and set events to your liking so he follows naturally; trying to push or pull him into anything will only result in him digging in his heels.

 

“Can we at least turn on the fan?” he asks indicating the box fan sitting a few feet away.  All the papers are piled in the corner and safe from any breeze, and Dick is slowly dying from the heat and the tension.

 

Jason looks at him, eyes dark, and says, “No.”

 

* * *

 

Jason’s hair is sticky with sweat and crunchy with leftover gel, but it softens up and smoothes out under Dick’s fingers like Dick had hoped.  And Jason loves it- he melts into the touch, into the kiss between them, all but purring like a contented cat. He tastes like crap beer and strawberry ice cream, because he claims he likes neapolitan but he only eats the strawberry part and leaves the rest, and he still kisses like it’s their first time and their last.  He anchors his own grip against Dick’s head, digging his own fingers into Dick’s hair with one hand, reaching down to pull at the band of his briefs with the other.

 

“No,” Dick says, and Jason shudders and goes still, and Dick shifts up onto one knee and twists his hips away.  “Let me,” he begs against Jason’s gasping mouth. “Let me just.”

 

He pushes, and Jason goes down, laying back against the mattress with one arm behind his head as a pillow.  He watches with darkened sea-glass eyes and stays where he’s put, and Dick kisses him as reward, leans over him and kisses again.  He braces himself on an elbow, both knees, holding himself up over Jason but not touching him and it’s still too hot.

 

He slides his lips across Jason’s jaw, kissing and nipping, drawing small bruises to the fragile skin under his chin.  He dips his tongue into the hollow of his throat and breathes there until Jason shudders again, presses the fingers of one hand over his heart to feel it beating before sliding down to rub at the nipple.  He skims his hands down Jason’s sides, skin slick with sweat, settles his weight between Jason’s legs as he strokes his thumbs over his ribs and bites new bruises into the sharp arch of his hip bones.

 

His jeans are in a pile on the wrong side of the mattress, so Dick abandons Jason for the moment it takes to retrieve them and pull his briefs off, and Jason shudders and swears.  Dick comes back, kisses along his heaving stomach, drops the foil packets onto Jason’s sternum.

 

“Fuck,” Jason says, spreading his legs wider, planting one foot on the mattress and lifting his hips, an invitation for Dick to pull the stupid smiley face boxers off.  “Yes, fuck, just- don’t fucking tease-”

 

Dick catches his knee and bites his inner thigh, hard enough to properly hurt, and Jason grunts and drops his head back.  He keeps his hips up though, and Dick can’t turn down such an offering. He pulls down the boxers, pushes at Jason’s leg until he lifts his foot and Dick can pull them off entirely.  He licks a line straight up the underside of Jason’s cock and Jason jerks like it surprised him, and Dick can’t help but kiss the head, draw it into his mouth.

 

Jason is watching him, he can feel it, and he puts on a show for him, fluttering his eyelashes and sinking down on Jason’s cock, as far as he can take it.  Moaning and blushing oh-so-pretty, and he doesn’t need to look to know Jason’s own fair skin is already stained pink. He nudges at Jason’s balls, slides further back and nudges with a knuckle, and Jason grunts and huffs and kicks at him.

 

“Teasing,” he says, trying for angry, missing by a touch-starved mile.  Dick hollows his cheeks and goes down again and doesn’t stop until his nose is buried in wiry hair and the head of Jason’s cock is a steady pressure at the back of his throat.

 

He waits for a ten count and then pulls up, pulls off with an obscene slurp, licks his lips.  “It could be worse,” he says, and applies pressure with the knuckle again, and Jason’s eyes roll back and short-circuits his response.

 

But Dick _is_ being mean, and Jason is tolerating it, so Dick takes his hand away and takes one of the packets off his chest instead.  The lube is warm enough to be runny, flowing down his fingers and spilling shiny and slick onto Jason’s belly, and Dick scrapes his fingers through the puddle of it and moves back between his legs.  He slides one finger in, slow and careful as he always is with this, pulls back and pushes two in when Jason snarls at him. A few moments to adjust, Dick rolling his wrist and working him open, and two fingers becomes three, and Jason finally settles down.  His expression is a strange mixture, disquiet and content. He’s vulnerable, he’s not the one in control- he likes it, he wants more, he trusts Dick with this completely.

 

Dick rolls his wrist again, pumping his fingers in and out slowly, leaning in close to feel Jason shiver with every push in.  He kisses at the hinge of Jason’s jaw and Jason turns in to him and catches the next kiss on his lips, sweet and shy.

 

“Now,” he orders hoarsely, “do it now, still fucking teasing-”

 

Dick laughs against his skin, breathless, and sits back, slipping his fingers out and moving back away from Jason entirely.  He wishes he could take a picture of this- Jason stripped down to raw nerves, needy and demanding, open and trusting. Trying would destroy that trust, destroy this- so he studies him instead, carving every line into memory.  Then he sits forward again, picking the condom packet off Jason’s chest and ripping it open and rolling it on. He slides his hands under Jason’s hips, urging him up, resting his ass on Dick’s thighs as Dick kneels between his legs.  He holds his cock with one hand and braces the other against the mattress as he pushes in, too slow, and Jason rolls his head to the side and bites off a moan.

 

He stops when their hips are flush, leaning over Jason but not touching him, breathing hard like he’d just run a race.  The sweat is stinging at his eyes and sticking his hair to his skin and Jason is too hot around him, against him. He spreads his knees for better balance and rolls his hips, and Jason twists against him.  He reaches out blindly, flailing his hand across the mattress until he touches Dick’s, wraps his fingers around Dick’s wrist almost tight enough to bruise.

 

Dick rolls his hips again and gasps into the air between them.  He likes this- slow and lazy and hot, Jason rolling his own hips in counterpoint to Dick’s movements, the hand around his wrist the anchor that keeps him here and now.  Jason is watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, and Dick shifts a knee again and leans over him to steal another breathless kiss, and Jason whines in his throat and arches his back at the change in angle.  His version of screaming and begging for more- he’s not _unresponsive_ , but he’s so controlled that every noise, every shiver, every gasp is a victory.

 

They fuck like that, slow gentle deep rolls, Jason pliable and quiet, Dick melting into him.  He slides a hand between them and strokes Jason’s cock and Jason trembles like a plucked harp string.  He presses his leg against Dick’s flank, pushing, encouraging, and Dick laughs into their long lazy kiss and dances feather-light touches over his cock in punishment.  It’s too fucking hot- the skin of Jason’s thigh catches at Dick’s hip, sticky with sweat- Dick pushes upright a bit and snaps his hips just once, a proper thrust, and Jason grunts and drops his leg.  He twists against the mattress and tightens his hold on Dick’s wrist and digs his other hand into Dick’s hair, holding on, and Dick fucks him and takes his cock in hand and jerks him off properly.

 

Jason bucks against him, once, twice, then holds himself up in an impossible arch as he’s coming, heels and shoulders all that touch the mattress, and Dick drops to lay over him and mouths at his neck and lets him ride it out.  He buckles soon enough, collapsing back with that stunned look- his orgasms always surprise him, like he didn’t know he could feel like that, and it always breaks Dick’s heart just a little- but lifts his knee again to nudge at Dick.

 

“C’mon,” he orders, releasing Dick’s hair and dragging his palm down Dick’s spine.  Dick shifts back up and pushes into him, helpless against the magnetic pull of his satisfied gaze, his skin sizzling with heat and Jason’s hand hot like a brand on the small of his back.  He bucks into him, graceless rutting, gasping down too-hot air and hearing words of reverence whispered only now, when Dick is too far gone to truly understand them.

 

He comes with a whine like a wounded animal, static under his skin, white-hot where Jason is touching him.  He has enough presence of mind to keep himself propped up, falling only down to his elbows, panting into Jason’s shoulder and trembling until Jason uses his grip on his wrist to pull him the rest of the way down.  Semen and runny lube smear between their bellies and it’s gross, and it will be even grosser when it dries, but Jason feels like fire and Dick could not turn away from him if his life depended on it.

 

Jason lifts his chin, tucks Dick’s head against his neck and rests his face in Dick’s hair.  “You get one minute,” he says, and Dick smiles against his neck and does not point out that Jason is the one holding onto him.

 

* * *

 

Eventually they separate, because it really is too hot to cuddle.  They take turns in the shower that reaches lukewarm at best, and then collapse together but not touching onto the mattress, Jason graciously allowing Dick the prime position of right in front of the fan.  It’s only really stirring up the heat and blowing dust across him, but it dries off the sweat almost as fast as it rises up, so Dick appreciates the gesture.

 

“I still have that apartment,” he says, later enough that he should be asleep.  Jason is ghosting his fingertips along the skin of his back, drawing in invisible wings, outlining every feather with precise care.

 

“I have other safe houses too,” he points out, and Dick doesn’t ask why they’re not _there_ , then.  He knows better than to ask questions when the answers can only be some shade of self-punishment.

 

The hand leaves his back and skims down his side, the line of his body offered to Jason in profile.  It stops on his hip, and Jason presses in close, kisses the back of his neck.

 

“You’ve got today free, right?” he asks, and Dick nods and doesn’t ask how he knows that already.

 

Another pause, another kiss.  The hand is migrating downwards, fingers tracing across the dimple in Dick’s back, where it had rested earlier.  Jason shifts closer, and he’s not hard, not yet. But he will be, soon.

 

“One more hour,”  Jason says against Dick’s neck, his breath stirring Dick’s hair, and Dick presses back into him and melts.


End file.
